27.5.09
21.7.08
move em' on, head em' up
we're off for two leisurely weeks of steer roping and camping [we can't get enough] in Wyoming, where Ryan grew up. see you in August.
rawhide!
rawhide!
16.7.08
aviary apocalypse
this guy took shelter on Ryan's saw table. not an obvious choice for sanctuary, it seemed backwards until we found....
..this guy skulking in the lemon tree. it's a Cooper's Hawk, far as I can tell, which is an Accipiter. in other words, "feeding chiefly on small mammals and birds."
but look at that face.
but now look at this disemboweler! this humbling photo [and more], and the [somewhat more climactic] story of their aviary apocalypse [I stole it], are from the good people at Hilton Pond.
case closed.
..this guy skulking in the lemon tree. it's a Cooper's Hawk, far as I can tell, which is an Accipiter. in other words, "feeding chiefly on small mammals and birds."
but look at that face.
but now look at this disemboweler! this humbling photo [and more], and the [somewhat more climactic] story of their aviary apocalypse [I stole it], are from the good people at Hilton Pond.
case closed.
12.7.08
8.7.08
5.7.08
fuego trabajos....
is Spanish for fire works [but not fireworks]....
and the dog is not bothered by them in the least...
and the dog is not bothered by them in the least...
27.6.08
and the darkest hour is just before dawn.
well, it's all happened around here, people. it's all happened now.
I'd just as soon talk about dawn and save the details of the darkest hour for my tell-all memoir - yes, Mom and Dad, the same one where I pull off your masks and reveal the monsters underneath [totally kidding] - but how could I deny your morbid curiosity?
darkness:
all told, staining and varnishing a modestly-sized floor should take about three or four days. as inoculated as we've become in the last eighteen months against petty things like hope and optimism, we're still only human. we tacked on a few days for good measure and set our sites on reclaiming our lost dignity in about a week.
two weeks later, the glossy first coat of varnish still had wet spots. we said 'to hell with it' [more or less] and Ryan sanded down the wet spots and moved on to the first [of two] coats of matte varnish.
this matte varnish, you see, was top of the line stuff. a premium formulation that also exceeds Southern California's strict environmental standards for VOCs. and it streaked horribly. we called the outstanding local paint store that recommended the product to us and they tested every last gallon of the stuff on their shelves, but couldn't replicate our problem. they told us to call the distributor, but by now it was Friday afternoon and they're on the East Coast.
friends, it was a very long weekend.
on Monday the distributor put us in touch with a local rep. who talked us into giving it another shot. streaks. he came out out and put the fourth coat down himself. streaks again. meanwhile, Ryan and I were living in shallow increments of two-day drying times, which did a whole lot for those villainous creases we both have between our eyebrows.
turns out the formula was not yet official and only being tested on us hippy-dippy Southern Californians. the company went back to the drawing board and we, selfish and miserable, stuck it to Mother Earth with some chemical saturated contraband.
a month had passed since we put down that first coat and when we finally shuffled into our new, completed home we were ragged and pitiful like we'd just come home from war.
dawn:
the sun is back! the color is returning to our cheeks, the glint to our eyes and slowly we're learning to walk upright again. so much about the trailer that defied description while we were living out our sentence is now illuminated by gloriousness of our new life. I'll tell you later. suffice to say: we don't want to go back in there [but we have to to cook].
we're out of traction. we made parole. we still have a whole lot to do, but I think we're gonna live.
I'd just as soon talk about dawn and save the details of the darkest hour for my tell-all memoir - yes, Mom and Dad, the same one where I pull off your masks and reveal the monsters underneath [totally kidding] - but how could I deny your morbid curiosity?
darkness:
all told, staining and varnishing a modestly-sized floor should take about three or four days. as inoculated as we've become in the last eighteen months against petty things like hope and optimism, we're still only human. we tacked on a few days for good measure and set our sites on reclaiming our lost dignity in about a week.
two weeks later, the glossy first coat of varnish still had wet spots. we said 'to hell with it' [more or less] and Ryan sanded down the wet spots and moved on to the first [of two] coats of matte varnish.
this matte varnish, you see, was top of the line stuff. a premium formulation that also exceeds Southern California's strict environmental standards for VOCs. and it streaked horribly. we called the outstanding local paint store that recommended the product to us and they tested every last gallon of the stuff on their shelves, but couldn't replicate our problem. they told us to call the distributor, but by now it was Friday afternoon and they're on the East Coast.
friends, it was a very long weekend.
on Monday the distributor put us in touch with a local rep. who talked us into giving it another shot. streaks. he came out out and put the fourth coat down himself. streaks again. meanwhile, Ryan and I were living in shallow increments of two-day drying times, which did a whole lot for those villainous creases we both have between our eyebrows.
turns out the formula was not yet official and only being tested on us hippy-dippy Southern Californians. the company went back to the drawing board and we, selfish and miserable, stuck it to Mother Earth with some chemical saturated contraband.
a month had passed since we put down that first coat and when we finally shuffled into our new, completed home we were ragged and pitiful like we'd just come home from war.
dawn:the sun is back! the color is returning to our cheeks, the glint to our eyes and slowly we're learning to walk upright again. so much about the trailer that defied description while we were living out our sentence is now illuminated by gloriousness of our new life. I'll tell you later. suffice to say: we don't want to go back in there [but we have to to cook].
we're out of traction. we made parole. we still have a whole lot to do, but I think we're gonna live.
23.6.08
19.6.08
paying attention
"When we Indians kill meat, we eat it all up. When we dig roots, we make little holes. When we build houses, we make little holes. When we burn grass for grasshoppers, we don't ruin things. We shake down acorns and pine nuts. We don't chop down the trees. We only use dead wood.But the white people plow up the ground, pull down the trees, kill everything.... the White people pay no attention.... How can the spirit of the earth like the White man? .... everywhere the White man has touched it, it is sore."
a Wintu woman in the 1800's [before bulldozers]
16.6.08
and then...
the stain and first coat of high-gloss [for strength] varnish are down. it's starting to smell- and look, more and more - like home.
15.6.08
climate control
it's warming up down here.
there are two options, here in the desert, for dodging the shriveled fate of this pencil: condition yourself or condition the air in the immediate vicinity of yourself. because the motto at this particular compound is Abandon Technology Before It Abandons You, we're now in full acclimation mode.
on weekends, self-conditioning involves adjusting to the sun's course; making the most of its milder early-morning and later-evening hours and sleeping off the afternoon when its at its brutish height. you know how we like to draw a thick line between cave-dwellers and our own civilized selves? I only wish I could stake out a cool, dark, refreshing cavern these days.
weekdays are trickier. my co-workers have cheerfully endured my muddy boots, torn jeans and tangly ponytails but I fear that siestas and loin-cloths would be pushing it. with my reliable gentleman ranchero ensembles unbearable [literally] for the next four months, though, what am I to do?
what I'm going to do is wander through space and time to see what I can learn from people who've thrived in scorching conditions for thousands of years; without wilting, without Freon. hardly naked savages, these ladies all look comfortable and smart.
simple, flowy shapes made from natural fibers with maybe a little decoration by way of print or embroidery or gold teeth. I can do this. with minor adjustments and a pair of Vans - heck, even rancherita boots - any of these get-ups will get me from Union Station to work without looking like a moist towelette.
except for the shirted, trouserless fellow below.
around here we call that a Porky Pig and it's unacceptable.
that's all folks.
there are two options, here in the desert, for dodging the shriveled fate of this pencil: condition yourself or condition the air in the immediate vicinity of yourself. because the motto at this particular compound is Abandon Technology Before It Abandons You, we're now in full acclimation mode.on weekends, self-conditioning involves adjusting to the sun's course; making the most of its milder early-morning and later-evening hours and sleeping off the afternoon when its at its brutish height. you know how we like to draw a thick line between cave-dwellers and our own civilized selves? I only wish I could stake out a cool, dark, refreshing cavern these days.
weekdays are trickier. my co-workers have cheerfully endured my muddy boots, torn jeans and tangly ponytails but I fear that siestas and loin-cloths would be pushing it. with my reliable gentleman ranchero ensembles unbearable [literally] for the next four months, though, what am I to do?
what I'm going to do is wander through space and time to see what I can learn from people who've thrived in scorching conditions for thousands of years; without wilting, without Freon. hardly naked savages, these ladies all look comfortable and smart.
simple, flowy shapes made from natural fibers with maybe a little decoration by way of print or embroidery or gold teeth. I can do this. with minor adjustments and a pair of Vans - heck, even rancherita boots - any of these get-ups will get me from Union Station to work without looking like a moist towelette.except for the shirted, trouserless fellow below.
around here we call that a Porky Pig and it's unacceptable.
that's all folks.
12.6.08
10.6.08
just a house we've been trying to live in
people. did I ever tell you about how we're building a house?
or we were. once. for reasons that I don't have the mental capacity to describe just now, progress was forcibly halted and we've spent the last six months spinning our wheels, grinding our teeth, twiddling our thumbs. misery, I believe, lives in the margins between expectation and reality, but such notions haven't gone far towards making the last half a year endurable.
but as Willie says, 'time will take care of itself so just leave time alone'. and so it has. we've been thrown a bone and finally - FINALLY - given permission to proceed to the next step, putting in the floors we thought would be in by last Christmas.
Birch plywood. handsome, unassuming, not too yellow.
and we're off!
or we were. once. for reasons that I don't have the mental capacity to describe just now, progress was forcibly halted and we've spent the last six months spinning our wheels, grinding our teeth, twiddling our thumbs. misery, I believe, lives in the margins between expectation and reality, but such notions haven't gone far towards making the last half a year endurable.
but as Willie says, 'time will take care of itself so just leave time alone'. and so it has. we've been thrown a bone and finally - FINALLY - given permission to proceed to the next step, putting in the floors we thought would be in by last Christmas.
Birch plywood. handsome, unassuming, not too yellow.
and we're off!
4.6.08
late afternoon delights
tracks, be-winged and be-wheeled.
a juvenile tumbleweed with guests.
coyote melon asserting itself...
and providing silver-green accomodations for a lone snail.
2.6.08
28.5.08
if all the good barns are taken
funny, the little things that point us towards our futures. we can't take every encounter as a portent, but if I knew then what I know now I might've steered clear of Willie Nelson's Magritte-inspired Electric Horseman t-shirt I got a couple years ago. the only image is a rendering of a trailer hitch and below, the words "this is a chrome trailer hitch".
oh, Willie, is it, heck. how did you know and why didn't I listen?
if it hadn't become such an important influence on our building philosophy I might also rue the day that, in Port Townsend for our honeymoon, we picked up this incredible book:
oh, the horror. we imagined it might come in handy years down the road, when we bought a little chunk of land in the country, not supposing in our wildest worst-case scenarios that we were only days from being asked to vacate our current charming, cheap rental in Echo Park..
this little book's succinct messages of wasting-not-wanting-not, embracing imperfection and working with the land and not in spite of it are applicable everywhere, but very hard to find in most design books and magazines.
'a sanctuary for the human imagination. if it happens to embrace the karma of an ancient oak, all the better.'
'almost a Navaho hogan, this octagon of interlocked hardwood logs is crowned by a wheel of light. the power company hasn't scribbled on their sky with wires.'
'if all the good barns are taken, there's nothing to stop you from building your own.'
'the furniture he makes is his art, and around it this craftsman built a sun-loving house.'
'if you luck into an Ashram that peddles great salvage, you'd buy this window for two hundred dollars, like the young couple who now have an archangel sharing their resurrected barn.'
'a fine new house and another couple heavily into stained glass, ceramics and quilting with home-dyed swatches. they have no secrets from their plants.'
'long on the land, a sculptor muscled out the bluestone for his house, healed the quarry hole with spring water and had himself a swimming pool.'
'Hervey built a whole colony, scattering rough cabins like seeds. when you were broke he never asked for rent. of course, you helped him to build his concert hall.'
oh, Willie, is it, heck. how did you know and why didn't I listen?
if it hadn't become such an important influence on our building philosophy I might also rue the day that, in Port Townsend for our honeymoon, we picked up this incredible book:
oh, the horror. we imagined it might come in handy years down the road, when we bought a little chunk of land in the country, not supposing in our wildest worst-case scenarios that we were only days from being asked to vacate our current charming, cheap rental in Echo Park..
this little book's succinct messages of wasting-not-wanting-not, embracing imperfection and working with the land and not in spite of it are applicable everywhere, but very hard to find in most design books and magazines.
'a sanctuary for the human imagination. if it happens to embrace the karma of an ancient oak, all the better.'
'almost a Navaho hogan, this octagon of interlocked hardwood logs is crowned by a wheel of light. the power company hasn't scribbled on their sky with wires.'
'if all the good barns are taken, there's nothing to stop you from building your own.'
'the furniture he makes is his art, and around it this craftsman built a sun-loving house.'
'if you luck into an Ashram that peddles great salvage, you'd buy this window for two hundred dollars, like the young couple who now have an archangel sharing their resurrected barn.'
'a fine new house and another couple heavily into stained glass, ceramics and quilting with home-dyed swatches. they have no secrets from their plants.'
'long on the land, a sculptor muscled out the bluestone for his house, healed the quarry hole with spring water and had himself a swimming pool.'
'Hervey built a whole colony, scattering rough cabins like seeds. when you were broke he never asked for rent. of course, you helped him to build his concert hall.'
19.5.08
11.5.08
looking, not touching
I can't have these- maybe you?
an unusually sculptural antique steer horn coat rack, currently under $50:
another notable rack, no bids yet but the opener's $399:
a pair of skeletal candlesticks at $50:
and to keep it real, a nice, toothy stool, $75 and rising:
an unusually sculptural antique steer horn coat rack, currently under $50:
another notable rack, no bids yet but the opener's $399:
a pair of skeletal candlesticks at $50:
and to keep it real, a nice, toothy stool, $75 and rising:
San Francisco sky scratchers
there was Incidental Architecture to be found in San Francisco, although none as silly as we do down here. architectural harmony... my old foe. one of these, by the way, is a cheat; not incidental at all, but an arresting addition to an earlier building. you'll have to figure it out for yourself!
7.5.08
lean and solid everywhere
can't imagine a yard that wouldn't benefit from a set of these ethereal lights- particularly if they're sturdy enough to sit on. the largest is about 30"x23"x19". get 'em here.
[seems no one was tempted by the $1,100 opening bid and these have been re-listed for just $300 [with a reserve...]. right here.]
[seems no one was tempted by the $1,100 opening bid and these have been re-listed for just $300 [with a reserve...]. right here.]
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